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mom poem

debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
una tormenta está montando en la marea
amé a mujer
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
no permanezca no más
hace tres años hoy
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
en la medianoche
he echado el mundo
sé lo que usted va a decir
veré una estrella esta noche

 



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